Running Interference
by Nameless Boast
Summary: Stan, worried about Kyle's perpetually single status, decides to play matchmaker, but is forced to reevaluate his own love life in the process. Meanwhile, Kyle starts to wonder if he would have been better off staying in the closet. Slash and het.
1. Paved with Good Intentions

Disclaimer: This story is just for my entertainment, and is not to be used to make a profit. In fact, as I am doing this rather than putting in more hours at work, I'm actually _losing_ money on the deal. Perhaps _I _should sue…

**Running Interference**

**Act I – Paved with Good Intentions**

**Author's Notes:** I have not given up on "Rules to Live By," I swear. But I couldn't resist this fic when it popped into my head. (I am thus even more behind on political science seminar reading than I was before…)

Slash, het, romance, humor, sports, and pizza – a little bit of something for everyone.

-----

Stan had never had particularly good luck with women. First, there was Wendy, whom he'd "dated" for the better part of third grade, only to be callously dumped in the middle of a fourth-grade touch football game. Of course, this alone would not have been so traumatizing, had the matter simply been abandoned then. But, no, he _had_ to let it evolve into a notorious on-again-off-again relationship that lasted well into ninth grade.

When Wendy, at age 14, shyly suggested that they see other people without breaking things off entirely between the two, an unprecedented event happened: Stan found his backbone, narrowed his eyes, and broke it off for good.

Of course, perhaps calling her a "manipulative self-serving insensitive femme-Nazi bitch" in the middle of the cafeteria was a _bit_ out of line, but after all that time, could you really blame him for being pissed off?

So Stan entered the bustling high school dating scene. First there was Mercedes, who had secretly had something of a crush on him since the _last_ dance-off he'd dragged her into (which were becoming an almost bi-annual occurrence by then).

Of course, that didn't work out. And it wasn't because Mercedes was a bimbo – in fact, she was easily the smartest of the former Raisins girls. Okay, that might not have been saying much, but Mercedes had a frighteningly thorough understanding of the human psyche, as well as a shrewd business mind. No, the problem was much, _much_ more serious than an IQ deficiency. Mercedes, it turned out, was very into leather. And chains. And vegetable oil. And Stan was far too much of a good little Catholic boy for that.

At least, that was _his_ version of the story. If you asked Mercedes, she said that he opened her closet door, thinking it was the bathroom, saw the various handcuffs and whips, and literally ran out screaming like the little girl he was.

The next time he asked someone out, he opted to play it safe, propositioning Millie. She was a cute, sweet, innocent little southern girl, who enjoyed baking and flowers and shiny, happy things.

Stan had stopped throwing up around girls once he entered into the whole new realm of awkwardness that was puberty, so when he started feeling vaguely queasy every time he spent too much time around her, he figured it was best to call the whole thing off.

_Then_ there was Bebe. She was fun, smart, and most importantly, had a _great_ rack. Of course, it's generally against the teenage code to go out with your ex's best friend (or your best friend's ex, from her perspective) – luckily enough for Stan, she and Wendy had begun to drift apart some time in middle school, and had generally been coolly cordial from that point onward. Stan had high hopes for this one.

A few months later, Bebe announced that she had come to realize that she was actually a lesbian (which, while it shocked Stan, came as no surprise to the other girls on the volleyball team). And, all jokes about turning her against men aside, Stan was remarkably gracious about the whole affair.

Bebe ended up going to the sophomore year-end dance with Kyle. She wasn't quite sure if she was his beard, or he was hers. They spent the better part of the night bonding over an in-depth discussion of Alfred Kinsey's work on the psychology and physiology of human sexuality. That is, when Kyle wasn't dragging Bebe onto the dance floor to prove that his anti-rhythm Jew genes were cancelled out by his uber-rhythmic gay genes. Bebe had to concede the point.

Stan went with Wendy. God, he hated himself sometimes.

-----

The way Stan knew it was really, truly, no-I'm-serious-this-time-you-guys-don't-give-me-that-look, _finally_ over with Wendy was when, at the beginning of their junior year, they actually broke up on good terms. They resolved to stay friends – whether they liked it or not – in order to avoid yet another fight-induced reunification (which usually entailed them screaming at one another until they began passionately making out, often in public).

Stan decided to take a break from the dating scene for a while, just to get his head on straight. Then, a few weeks into the school year, he asked out Heidi Turner.

Five months into it, their relationship was going amazingly smoothly. Stan supposed it was a _bit_ stereotypical that the football team quarterback ended up dating the head cheerleader, but Heidi was a really fantastic girlfriend. She was a lot like Bebe, actually, except that she had a healthy appreciation for the male form. She was smart, _gorgeous_, and a great amount of fun to be around. She'd gained a reputation for throwing the best parties in town, and had gotten social networking down to an art form.

Sure, she could be a bit manipulative, even callous – especially toward anyone she didn't particularly care for – but somehow, Stan didn't mind. In a way, he actually found it rather attractive.

He didn't like to think about the implications of that last bit too much.

So, overall, by second semester of his junior year of high school, things were going fairly well. Stan was, however, becoming increasingly concerned about his best friend, although not for the reasons one would likely expect. Because Kyle Broflovski may have been short, skinny, Jewish, and _very_ gay, but he was also temperamental and tough as nails. Perhaps it was his habit of physically assaulting people (usually Cartman) without warning; perhaps it was that black leather jacket that had become his trademark some time in ninth grade; or perhaps it was simply his "I'm going to say what I think when I think it, and you can suck my cock if you don't like it" attitude; but Kyle had gained a reputation as something of a badass, albeit a spastic (and somewhat geeky) one. He wasn't going to be _anyone's_ bashing victim.

No, Stan was much more worried about the fact that his best friend, at sixteen, had yet to be in a legitimate, healthy relationship. Sure, there was the occasional (okay, _frequent_) hookup – which, Kyle claimed anyway, had rarely gone beyond mostly-clothed petting – but he had always lacked any real sense of romantic companionship.

So, at the beginning of the second semester of his junior year, Stan made the fateful decision to abandon his usual policy of just leaving things alone and find Kyle a boyfriend.

That was when everything started to go horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

-----

"So you can just look at someone and _know_?" Stan asked incredulously.

"Pretty much."

Stan and Kyle had _planned_ on getting together to study for their history test the next morning. However, the conversation had led from one thing to another, and Stan made the mistake of questioning Kyle's ability to weed out the homos from the "breeders." Thus, they were in Kyle's room, debating the existence of the "gaydar."

"Bullshit."

"Wanna bet?"

"Fine." Stan wracked his brain, thinking of possible candidates. "Gary?"

"Straight."

Stan was surprised by the quickness of Kyle's response.

"Clyde?"

"Gay." Ah, well, Stan had already figured as much.

"Kevin?"

"Straight."

"Tweek?"

"Big flaming pouf. Though the constant twitching did throw off my gaydar somewhat."

"Craig?"

"Who do you thing helped Tweek realize he was a big flaming pouf?"

"…Wait, really?" Stan frowned. "How long has that been going on?"

"Since about halfway through sophomore year. But, yeah, Craig is _really_ fucking gay. As in, gayer than me. I mean, even _I've_ got a little bit of straightness in me. Like, I'd do Salma Hayek. I think the very thought of pussy freaks him out."

More information than Stan really wanted. After all, they _did_ play football together; and although Craig wasn't on the basketball team, Stan did spend a fair amount of time around him.

"Okay, moving on. Pip?"

"Too prepubescent to be straight _or_ gay."

"…Butters?" Stan had waited on the most obvious choice among their classmates.

"Straight, actually."

"No way."

"Way. Big fan of titties. Which is probably a good thing, when you think about it. He'd be the whiniest bottom ever."

"Ugh, mental image I did _not_ need." He paused. "Anyone else in our class you can think of?"

"Hm…well, there's Token."

"Huh?" _That _came as a surprise. "Token?"

"Oh, come on, even _you_ should've figured him out. He wears Armani. He exfoliates. He's the biggest music snob we know." Kyle grinned conspiratorially. "Besides, it's true what women say. If a man's attractive, smart, and rich, he's either gay or taken. If not both."

"Touché."

Kyle smirked. "And there's Mark Cutswald."

"Jesus Christ, is _nobody_ straight anymore?"

"Well, that's what we keep uber-heteros like you around for. _Someone_ has to breed innocent youths for us to recruit."

As they turned back to their respective history textbooks, Stan found the perfect opening. "So, ah, have you dated any of them?"

"Hm?" Kyle asked, looking up. "You mean, have I hooked up with any of them"

Stan rolled his eyes. "No, I mean, really gone out with any one. Steadily."

"You know I don't do the whole dating thing."

"Why not?" Stan asked.

"Pathological fear of commitment? My compulsive need to play the field?" Kyle responded, shrugging. "I just don't."

"Have you ever _really _considered it?"

Kyle set down his book. "Stan, what is this about?"

"I mean…well, you're sixteen, and you've never had a legitimate _boyfriend._"

"So?"

"So?" Didn't Kyle register the seriousness of Stan's observations? "As your best friend, I feel compelled to intercede on your behalf!"

Kyle blinked. "You've been studying your SAT prep book again?"

Stan glared. As a matter of fact, he _had_ been prepping for the upcoming SAT, but that was beside the point.

"I'm just saying…"

Kyle gave Stan the look he always gave him when he had a particularly bad idea, like going vegan, or becoming the leader of a massive global cult.

"Not _everyone_ feels the need to be in a relationship at any given moment, Stan," Kyle said, returning his gaze to his textbook. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather not fail my test on the Hungarian revolution of 1848."

Stan pouted. "But—"

"_End of discussion_, Stan."

Unfortunately for Kyle, Stan was not the type to give up so easily. So, even as he went back to reading upon the deposal of Chancellor Metternich, the rusty gears in his mind began to turn.

-----

Heidi frowned. Stan was, as usual, late to pick her up.

Had it been anyone else, she would have dumped him a long time ago. After all, Heidi was hot and popular and incredibly well-connected, and could have had her pick of almost any of the boys at their school.

Then again, not all boys were Stan Marsh.

When he first asked her out, she'd said yes for the obvious reasons. He was cute, he had finally made his way off the bench and onto the field as starring quarterback, and – most importantly – he had just broken up with Wendy Testaburger. And, despite Wendy's protests to the contrary, it was clear that she wasn't quite over him.

Heidi had never really cared for Wendy. Sure, she put up with her, especially since Bebe had rekindled her friendship with Wendy after coming out. Because Bebe Stevens may have been a dyke, but she was still South Park High's big-breasted blonde teenage ideal of beauty and charm. Simply put, fucking with Wendy – as if that weren't dangerous enough in itself – meant fucking with Bebe, and hence fucking with her own social status. High school, Heidi had found, was proving to be great practice for the real world. Which was the primary reason she hadn't chewed Stan out for spending so much time with his ex-girlfriend, even if it were only in a platonic context.

Had it simply come down to Stan being good for her image and her vindictive idea of fun, however, Heidi would have given up on him months ago. He was perpetually late, somewhat flaky, and had the _worst_ friends. Kenny was a pervert; Cartman was a vile asshole; and Kyle…well, she didn't quite know _why_ she hated Kyle, except that he was a bit nerdy and always took up far too much of Stan's time for Heidi's liking.

Unfortunately, even with his shortcomings, Stan was by far the best boyfriend she'd had so far. Sure, he could be a bit overemotional, but – and Heidi was loathe to admit it out loud – that was part of what made him attractive. He was so damn _sweet_, and the fact that he tended to apologize for whatever it was he had screwed up before Heidi even got to tear him a new asshole about it tended to knock the wind out of her argument.

Heidi had come to the horrifying realization that she _really_ liked Stan. And that meant she was willing to put up with all the crap that went along with dating him.

So, as of eight-fifteen on Saturday night, Heidi was – as usual – sitting around in her room, her hair and makeup already done, drumming her fingernails impatiently on her vanity and flipping through the latest issue of _Cosmo_.

She grabbed her purse as soon as she heard the doorbell and calmly walked down the stairs, opening the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry I'm la—"

"Let me guess," she interrupted. "You were playing _Halo II_ with Kyle and lost track of time."

"Er, actually, I—"

"Spent all afternoon looking for Kenny only to realize that he was dead and wouldn't be back until tomorrow?"

"No, I was—"

"Being tutored by Wendy on SAT vocab?"

Third time's the charm – she could tell from the sheepish look on Stan's face that she'd hit the nail right on the head.

"Funny," she said, "I was under the impression that when you break up with someone, you tend to spend _less_ time with them."

"I'm really, _really_ sorry, Heidi," he said sincerely. "I'll be more careful about keeping track of time, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, stepping out the door and toward Stan's car – another reason she stuck with the boy. The global warming scares had made Randy Marsh's job significantly more lucrative in recent years, and Stan's parents had bought him a black Sebring convertible for his sixteenth birthday. Not exactly a Beemer, but far better than what most guys at their school had managed to acquire.

She slid into the passenger seat, not waiting for Stan to open the door for her. She turned to him as he climbed into the driver's seat. "So, where to? You're the one who told me to get dressed up."

"I made reservations at _Notti Bianche._" He paused. "Don't worry, I called ahead to let them know we'd be a little late. They said it wasn't a problem."

Heidi's eyes widened. "Stan, hon, you _do_ realize that's probably the most upscale restaurant in the county, right?"

Stan shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's my way of apologizing for not being around so much lately. Besides, isn't a guy allowed to do something special for his girlfriend?"

God, _why_ did Stan always have to make it so Heidi was utterly incapable of staying mad at him?

She grinned. "Come here, you." She reached over and undid his seatbelt, and pulled him toward her by the collar of his jacket.

Of course, she remembered as she tugged Stan on top of her and he started to toy with her earlobe with his tongue, there was one more, vitally important reason she hadn't cut Stan loose.

The hostess at _Notti Bianche_ was somewhat peeved when "Stanley, Party of Two" showed up a full hour later than he'd said they would, but she was a sucker for young romance, and went out of her way to seat them as quickly as possible anyway.

-----

"…Hey, Heidi? How can you tell if a guy likes you?"

"Pardon me?" Heidi asked, trying not to choke on her water as she washed down a bite of pasta.

"See, I was talking to Kyle a couple of days ago and—"

"Oh no," she interrupted. "_Please_ don't tell me your queer best friend just declared his undying love to you. Damnit, I _knew_ this was going to happen." The last thing Heidi needed was word getting around that she had turned Mr. All-American Football Hero into a fag.

"Ack!" Now it was Stan's turn to choke. "No! Jesus, Heidi, we're best friends!"

"Then what is it?" she said, relieved.

"It's just…I think Kyle needs a boyfriend. So I was thinking about, I dunno, trying to convince him to go on a real date with someone. I'm just not sure who."

"Stan, do you think we might be able to have a conversation that doesn't revolve around Kyle, Wendy, or the Broncos? Just once?"

Stan continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I mean, how's he supposed to go to college without having been in at least one real relationship in high school?"

Heidi narrowed her eyes at Stan. "Should you really be meddling in someone else's affairs?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "But if it works out, great, and if not, I can blame it on being a stupid teenage boy." He shot Heidi a bright smile. "What the worst that can happen?"

"Famous last words," she muttered into her glass.

And the evening had been going so well, too.

-----

Monday afternoon rolled around, and Stan found himself impatiently waiting by the school's running track.

"What is taking him so long?" Stan wondered aloud, checking his watch for the fifth time. It was already 5:45; he had gotten out of practice, showered, gotten dressed, and made his way out, but Kyle was nowhere to be seen.

South Park High School was one of those places that had a horrendously inadequately stocked science lab, but somehow found the funds to build _two_ men's locker rooms so they could have multiple athletic teams practice at the same time. It was basketball season, meaning Stan was – as usual – playing center. (As basketball was much less of a big deal than football in South Park, Stan was able to actually get on the court since day one.)

He had given up on attempting to drag Kyle to tryouts; his best friend had sworn off basketball after the traumatic negroplasty incident in fourth grade. Kyle opted to run track instead, stating that at least that way he wouldn't have to depend as much on potentially incompetent teammates.

It was usually Stan that kept Kyle waiting, often because his stupid basketball coach insisted on rehashing every play from his 1970's playbook (which he had dubbed "The Bible") on a regular basis. So where _was_ Kyle?

After another ten minutes passed, he grabbed his backpack and stepped toward the locker room, trying to find his wayward companion.

"Kyle?" he called out. No answer. "Kyle?" he repeated, louder this time. Still no reply.

Cautiously, he stepped into the room. He was sure Kyle wouldn't have left without him – where could he have gone?

He stepped into the nearest row of lockers. "Hey, Ky— ACK!" …Mistake.

Stan would never be able to erase from his mind the sight of Craig pressing Kyle down against a bench, nibbling on his neck and collarbone while his hand reached down into _Dear Holy Jesus I didn't need to see that!_

Craig sat up and glared. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"It's a locker room!" Stan sputtered in reply.

Craig rolled his eyes and flipped him off. Stan often wondered whether Craig had Turret's, or if he really was just that much of a prick. "Whatever." He grabbed his shirt and quickly put it back on before stalking off. "Later," he said, looking back over his shoulder at Kyle, who still hadn't mustered the resolve to actually sit up.

Stan stood in silence for a moment before addressing his friend.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing?"

Kyle grinned and hoisted himself up, his bright red Jew-fro even more unruly than usual. "Settling that old bet about who's gayer?" he quipped, grabbing his own shirt.

"But…you don't even like Craig!"

Kyle frowned. "He's really not all that bad," he responded defensively.

"He's an asshole!"

"I enjoy his caustic wit."

Stan was getting frustrated. "He's always carrying around that stupid video camera!"

"Oh, the possibilities."

Stan grimaced. Once again, more information than he ever needed.

"…He smokes!"

"He uses mouthwash."

"He's _dating Tweek_, remember?" Stan couldn't believe that his best friend had turned into some sort of…_scarlet woman_ (er, man) or something.

"It's an open relationship." Kyle smirked. "Hell, could _you_ imagine dating Tweek exclusively? It's a wonder Craig isn't more high-strung than he is."

"Ky…"

"Stan, he's hot, he's interested, we hooked up. Or, rather, we were in the _process_ when _someone_ decided he couldn't wait for ten more minutes. That's all there is to it." He took a swig from his water bottle, emptying it. "Why the sudden interest in my love life, anyway?"

"Because it's _not_ a love life!" Stan threw up his arms in exasperation. "Damnit, don't you ever want anything more than a string of random hookups?"

"Not this again. Would you _please_ lay off the relationship thing? If it happens, fine, if not, I'm not going to worry about it." He tossed his empty water bottle into the nearest recycling bin. "Now, I've just spent all afternoon running around like a hamster in a wheel, so are we gonna hit up Shakey's or not?"

-----

Kyle shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it into his side of the booth before climbing in. "Best Monday night routine _ever_," he said, grinning.

Stan nodded, sliding into the booth across from Kyle, and noticed Kyle's selection of toppings. "Pepperoni and sausage pizza?" he questioned. "Isn't that sacrilegious on, like, three different levels?"

"Probably," Kyle conceded, taking a bite. "Just don't tell my mother, and I think I'll be alright."

"She would flip out, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, well, as much as I hate to admit when Cartman is right, she really is something of a psychobitch." He chewed thoughtfully. "Speaking of psychotic bitches, how're things going with Heidi?"

"Mrr," Stan grumbled. Why is it that none of his friends seemed to even _want_ to get along with his girlfriend? "And things are going pretty great, thanks."

"Really? No trouble in paradise yet?"

"No, actually." He gave his friend an annoyed look. "And it wouldn't kill you to be a _little_ friendlier."

"I'm not exactly her favorite person either," Kyle replied.

"I don't know why you don't like her," Stan complained. "She's fun, energetic…hot…she gets the cutest little crinkle in her nose when she laughs…" he trailed off.

"Er, hello, Earth to Stan." Kyle waved his hand in front of his friend's face, bringing him back to the present reality. "You zoned out for a bit there."

"Heh, sorry," Stan said awkwardly. "Guess I just got caught up in the moment."

Kyle just shook his head and chuckled. "Stan, you would have made a fantastic faggot."

Stan was, as usual, not sure whether he should be flattered or insulted. So he shrugged noncommittally before continuing.

"Speaking of…"

"Oh no," Kyle said, getting a distinctly horrified look on his face. "Please don't tell me you _are_—"

"B'gah!" Stan's left eye began to twitch slightly at the thought. "Er, no offense…"

"None taken," Kyle replied, looking relieved. "I mean, you're cute and all, but the queer community really can't take another whiny emo boy."

Stan glared. How was it that _his_ masculinity was being questioned by his very gay, Monty Python-worshipping science nerd of a best friend?

Still, Stan trekked on valiantly. "I was referring to the steady relationship part, actually…"

"Aw, for fuck's sake, Stan, are we _really_ going to have this conversation again?" Kyle dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza back onto the plate. "I don't _care_ if I'm in a relationship or not." He took a sip of his coke. "Besides, I'm too busy to devote myself to another person like that. Between school, track, science club, and trying to keep my psychotic mother from launching another war against, I dunno, Australia for creating violent role models like Russell Crowe who go around the world fighting people for no apparent reason —"

"So why don't you let me set you up?"

Kyle nearly choked on his drink. "_You?_ Stan, you can barely handle your own dating misadventures, let alone anyone else's."

"Hey! I happen to be doing just fine, thank you," Stan responded indignantly. "Besides, I don't want to control your love life, I just think it'd be healthy for you to 'do the dating thing' for a change. You know, try something new."

Kyle sighed. "If I let you hook me up on a date," he said hesitantly, "will you promise to just let it go?"

Stan raised his right hand. "Scout's honor," he said, making the appropriate gesture.

Famous last words, indeed.

-----

**Author's Notes: **Hey, readers! Hope I've gotten you interested!

I should explain that I'd originally envisioned this as a one-shot, but it kind of evolved and took on a life of its own. It should now be about three chapters long.

Please review, and stick around for Act II – No Good Deed.


	2. No Good Deed

Disclaimer: This story is just for my entertainment, and is not to be used to make a profit. In fact, as I am doing this rather than putting in more hours at work, I'm actually _losing_ money on the deal. Perhaps _I _should sue…

**Running Interference**

**Act II – No Good Deed…**

**Author's Notes:** Nothing really substantive to add in these notes, except to state that I hope the relatively prompt update helps make up for my tardiness with "Rules."

Enjoy!

-----

That, of course, was when Stan realized that he knew jack shit about setting people up. Kyle was right – he had a hard enough time with this _own_ love life; how was he supposed to find his best friend's Mr. Right?

Most boys would have called their girlfriends in such a predicament. Considering Heidi's popularity – and her uncanny grasp of any and all school gossip – she should have been the obvious choice.

However, Stan mused, she probably wouldn't take too kindly to being pulled away from her evening ritual of primping and styling (or whatever the hell she did when she wasn't at cheerleader practice and Stan wasn't around) to help Kyle of all people.

Besides, Stan knew _exactly_ the woman for the job. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the familiar seven-digit number.

"Hey…it's Stan. Can I come over? …Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, I just need to talk to you about something…Cool. See you in a few."

-----

Within half an hour, Stan found himself sitting at the kitchen table of one very amused ex-girlfriend. She struggled to stifle giggles as she began heating two mugs of milk in her microwave, while Stan explained that he was 'concerned' about Kyle.

She couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer as he elaborated that they were, in particular, worries about Kyle's love life that had Stan so preoccupied.

"So you finally realized you're madly in love with him?"

"Gah! Wendy!" Stan shook his head vigorously. Why did people keep making these horrible insinuations about him?

She sighed dramatically, ignoring Stan's outcry. "I guess there really aren't any straight men left."

Stan frowned, though he had said approximately the same thing to Kyle just a few days ago. "One, you know he's my best friend, and two, you know I'm 'incurably hetero'," he explained, gesturing quotations. "Besides, I _have_ a girlfriend, remember?"

"How could I forget," she mumbled, turning back to the counter and mixing two packets of hot cocoa mix into the mugs.

"Anyway, I kinda talked it over with him, and I think I've got permission to…you know, set him up. But I'm gonna need help. That's where you come in."

Wendy set the two mugs on the table before joining Stan, staring at him incredulously the whole time.

"You're joking."

"Nope."

"You're _seriously_ going to play matchmaker?" Stan had done some stupid things in the time she'd known him, but this had to be at the top of the list. "That's more likely to piss Kyle off than it is to do anything constructive."

"I'm not trying to run his love life or anything. Just…expand his horizons. And it's not like I'm doing it behind his back or anything."

"So he's really lettingyou set him up?"

"Reluctantly, yeah."

"And why do you need me?"

"I told you, I'm clueless about this sort of stuff. Besides, it's romance, it could use a woman's touch."

Wendy took a sip from her mug, mulling over Stan's words. "So why don't you ask Heidi to help out?"

"I don't think she likes Kyle very much," he explained, fully aware that he was making the understatement of the century. "Besides, you're student council president, you know just about everyone in school."

"Fair enough," she responded. "So, who exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well," Stan said, pulling out a small slip of paper, "I had a couple of ideas…"

-----

Normally, Kyle went out with his friends on Friday night. A typical night entailed being dragged to Melons by Kenny (the wing-and-tits themed restaurant to which all Raisins girls inevitably graduated), getting into numerous scuffles with Cartman, and ultimately crashing at Stan's house, because he was too damn tired and annoyed to want to deal with his insane mother by the time the night was through.

But even having his homosexual self dragged to an all-female erotic freak show, then spending the better part of the evening coming up with creative retorts to the variations of "Jewish Fag" that Cartman managed to come up with, was better than this. Because, at seven-thirty, he was sitting at his computer, checking his email and waiting to be dragged out on a blind date, courtesy of his stubborn best friend.

Despite his apprehension, Kyle was getting rather impatient. He just wanted to get the night overwith and carry on with his life as usual. He didn't have to wait long, however. Within five minutes, there was a knock on his door.

"I've got it!" he yelled, running down the stairs in hopes of intercepting his date and leaving before his mother got to him.

Sadly, it was too late. Sheila had already forced Clyde—

_Clyde!?_ Kyle thought incredulously. The only person in their graduating class who was actually _more_ emotive than Stan? This was not going to end well—

to take a seat on the couch. Somehow, over the course of about eleven years of shared schooling, Mrs. Broflovski hadn't managed to exchange more than about five words with Clyde Donovan or his parents, and so had many, _many_ questions.

"Clyde, is it? What exactly do your parents do for a living?"

"Well, they—"

"Have you thought about your future?" Her volume increased steadily with each query.

"Mom, _please_," Kyle implored, in hopes of sparing himself some embarrassment and his unfortunate classmate the utter agony of his mother's standard survey. Considering how sensitive Clyde was, Kyle sincerely wondered about his ability to handle the examination.

Sheila, as usual, ignored Kyle's pleas.

"When was the last time you've been tested for HIV and other sexually transmitted ailments?"

Clyde glanced at Kyle imploringly, silently begging to be helped out of this situation. Kyle just shrugged apologetically and flopped down on the chair to the right of the sofa. "I haven't—"

"So you're just going to take your chances with my son's life!? IS THAT IT!?" Sheila was starting to turn red, and Clyde was slowly retracting into the fetal position.

"I hate my life," Kyle murmured, dropping his head into his hands.

-----

Stan, of course, knew that there was the distinct possibility of something going wrong. Thus he, having dragged along a reluctant Wendy, was crouched next to the living room window, watching the action play out should the need for intervention arise.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Wendy complained. The whole setup was just so undignified.

"Oh, it's not that bad. I just want to make sure things go alright."

"It looks like they're just talking," Wendy commented, staring curiously at the action inside.

"Mm hmm," Stan agreed. After a few moderately awkward moments of silence, he piped up again.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

"Cyrano de Bergerac?" Wendy suggested helpfully.

"No. Remember that night back in third grade when we tied Cartman to a tree with a giant satellite dish sticking out his ass?"

"…Kyle and Clyde going out on a date reminds you of an alien anal probe going up Cartman's ass? That's pretty Freudian, Stan."

"No! I mean, us hiding out together like this…behind a bush…" Okay, so it sounded a little stupider when he verbalized it.

Wendy shot him a lopsided grin. "Just don't throw up on me this time."

"Wasn't planning on it," Stan replied. He turned back to the window, watching the interrogation as it progressed. Fifteen minutes later, the scenery had not changed in the slightest.

"Christ, when are they going to make it out the door?" Stan wondered aloud.

-----

Thanks to the Jewish Mother's version of the Spanish Inquisition, however, they never _did_ make it out the door.

Two hours later, Kyle was banging his fist on the door of his coat closet, trying to coax out his date.

"Clyde? What the hell are you doing in there?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Clyde shouted between hysterical sobs. "I'm going back into the closet!"

"…WHAT!?"

"You heard me! It's warm and safe and won't cause trauma-induced seizures!"

Kyle whirled around to glare at his mother, who was utterly oblivious to Kyle's ire.

"Sweetheart, you really should make an effort to find yourself a more stable boyfriend," she stated matter-of-factly.

Kyle was speechless.

He had just resolved to dismiss the evening as a failure, count his losses and make his way back up into his room when he heard another knock at his front door.

"It's open," he shouted wearily, looking in exasperation back at the living room's coat closet.

He was not pleased when a very confused looking Stan Marsh, accompanied by Wendy of all people, stepped inside.

"Dude, what the hell is going on here?" Stan asked, looking from Kyle to the closet door to Kyle's mother and back again.

Kyle didn't even ask what exactly Stan thought he was doing there. He just massaged his temples with two fingers before looking back up at his friend.

"I hope you're happy, Stan. Thanks to you, Clyde has pulled a Tom Cruise and gone back into the closet. Literally."

With that, he turned and stomped his way upstairs, leaving two bewildered teenagers in his wake.

"I want him out by tomorrow morning!" Kyle shouted from the top of the stairs.

"…Goddamnit."

-----

"Well, _that_ went well," Wendy grumbled, tossing her jacket unceremoniously onto her couch while leading Stan in. It had taken a full three hours to coax Clyde out, something for which she had not been in the mood after freezing her ass off while crouching in a bush for the better part of two hours. As a result, it was past one in the morning by the time she got home.

Stan flopped onto the couch on her other side, grumbling incoherently. How was he supposed to know just how much crazier Kyle's mother got when the possibility of sex was involved?

…Okay, maybe he should have guessed as much, considering her violent reactions to anything even vaguely sexual on television or in movies. But _still_, getting a recently outed gay teenager to go back into the closet was no easy task.

Stan sighed, looking at the clearly exasperated girl to his left. "I'm really sorry about tonight. Didn't exactly go according to plan."

"Seriously, Stan, I'm willing to help out, but you need to at least get them _out of the house_ before I can do anything date-wise."

"Noted," he responded, looking at his watch. "Holy shit. I need to get home."

"Don't you have a provisional license?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah? So?"

"So you're not allowed to drive past midnight." Shit, Stan had forgotten about that. They'd walked to and from Kyle's house, so it hadn't even been a concern of his earlier.

"Aw, crap. Guess I'll just have to take my chances and hope I don't get pulled over for anything."

"Or you could…you know. Stay here."

Stan looked back up at his ex, who was fiddling awkwardly with the TV remote.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, my parents won't mind," she explained. "I can get you a spare blanket and pillow if you want to crash on the couch."

"Sounds good," he said, smiling slightly. He was too tired to drive, anyway.

-----

Stan didn't get home until two the next afternoon. Despite just how fatigued they both were, he and Wendy ended up spending the better part of the night watching 1950's b-movies on public access television, and he hadn't gotten to sleep until after five.

Luckily, he had told his parents the previous day that it was possible he would be spending the night at a friend's, something they had taken to mean he would be staying with Kyle, Cartman, or Kenny. At least he wouldn't have to deal with their questions about the last night's absence.

Stan had, however, neglected to give Heidi the benefit of such information. His mother informed him that Heidi had left more than one message since about ten that morning, wondering where he was and whether or not they were going to the matinee show at the local movie theater.

He cursed his own forgetfulness and picked up the phone in his kitchen, dialing Heidi's cell phone number from memory.

"Yes?" an irritated voice answered.

"I'm so so _so_ sorry!" Stan said, not bothering with a 'hello.'

"Where the hell have you been?" Heidi asked sharply. "I've been calling your cell phone, but it's been going straight to voice mail."

"Yeah, my battery died," he explained.

"What happened to your charger?"

"It was at home."

"And you weren't?" Heidi asked suspiciously.

"No, I ended up spending the night at We—er, I mean, I crashed at a friend's."

"Uh huh," she replied, not placated in the slightest. "Whatever, Stan." And with that, Heidi hung up on him.

Stan wondered what exactly he'd managed to do in a past life to accumulate so much bad karma.

-----

It took about twenty minutes worth of non-stop apologies to Kyle over the course of Saturday afternoon to get his best friend to speak to him again. It took another forty minutes of haranguing to get Kyle to agree to let Stan set him up once again (since, really, the night before couldn't possibly count as a date), with the condition that he arrange for them to meet somewhere other than Kyle's house.

So, come the next Tuesday afternoon, he and Wendy were ready to approach their next prospect in the search for Mr. Right.

There had always been rumors about Craig and Token. After all, they were fairly close friends, they were both very gay, and the more perverted students at South Park High couldn't help but notice they would look great together.

Like most rumors, however, these had no basis in fact. The primary foundation of their friendship actually lay in their mutual love of recording things on film for the sake of entertainment (or blackmail) later. So, while Craig might have been married to his video camera and monopolized the school's sole linear editor, Token could – when it wasn't football season – usually be found in the darkroom which he himself had given the school the money to build.

"Hey, Token?" Stan poked his head into the darkroom's door, being careful to let as little light in as possible. "Mind if I come in?"

Token looked up from the now-submerged negatives he was developing. "Yeah, sure, just give me a second." He put quickly put away any light-sensitive materials. "Whaddya need?"

Stan stepped into the room as Token flicked on a light, holding the door open for Wendy. "I need to ask you a kind of strange favor."

"Let me guess," he said, noticing Wendy. "You've gotten back together again and you want me to take your pictures for the couples section of the yearbook. Or," he paused, "you finally got her knocked up and want a family portrait done."

"Gah! Token, no!" Stan yelped emphatically. Wendy just blinked – why were all the boys she knew such utter whackjobs?

"No, you're not together, or no, she's not pregnant?"

"Neither!" the offended former lovebirds shouted in unison.

"Okay, so what do you want?" Token asked, crossing his arms and looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Well…" Stan shifted his weight somewhat uncomfortably. "First of all, are you seeing anyone?"

Token raised one eyebrow. "You're turning too? Damn, is no one straight anymore?"

"That's what I said."

Stan glared at Wendy. "You're not helping!" He turned back to Token. "I'm not asking for me."

"That's too bad," Token winked.

_Smartass_, Stan thought.

Wendy, being by far the more direct and forceful of the two, decided to interject. "Token, we have a proposition for you."

-----

**Author's Notes: **So ends Act II. Stay tuned for Act III, entitled "The Best Laid Plans."

Comments and criticism highly appreciated!


	3. The Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: This story is just for my entertainment, and is not to be used to make a profit. In fact, as I am doing this rather than putting in more hours at work, I'm actually _losing_ money on the deal. Perhaps _I _should sue…

**Running Interference**

**Act III – The Best Laid Plans**

**Author's Notes:** And we arrive upon the exciting conclusion. Sorry for the delay. Hope it does not disappoint!

-----

Coach Raymond, Stan had decided, was the quintessential sadistic asshole. More than Mr. Garrison had been; more than Mecha Streisand; he was possibly on the same plane as Cartman.

He therefore wasn't surprised when the coach scheduled an extra practice on Friday of all days, meaning that Stan would have precious little time to take care of various matters before Kyle's Big Date ™. At five-thirty, he was scrambling to gather all his things before rushing out the door to meet Wendy.

He needn't have bothered, however. By the time he had slipped his shirt back on, Wendy had actually stepped into the room.

"W-Wendy!" Stan exclaimed, in what sounded like a remarkable impression of Butters. "This is the _boys'_ locker room!"

"I know," she responded, "but I really need to talk to you. The student council is having an emergency meeting this evening, so I'm not going to be able to help out with Kyle's date tonight after all."

"Emergency meeting?" Stan asked. He didn't think the student council actually did anything but plan dances and other school-wide events, let alone anything that could be labeled 'urgent.'

"Yeah, it's a joint meeting with the PTA. Something about a parent demanding making STD-testing available in school. Don't ask me, I have no clue whose crazy idea this was."

Stan, however, couldn't have cared less about the meeting's purpose. "But…I can't do this alone!" he sputtered, his eye twitching rather violently.

"I know, I know. That's why I've called in reinforcements."

As if on cue, said reinforcements – in the form of two busty blondes, one slightly taller and with frizzier hair – knocked on Stan's door.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Stan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He ignored the confused stares of his basketball teammates, who were gawking at the three girls in their supposedly sacred space and undoubtedly wondering if this meant they were now allowed into the girls' locker room.

"Come on, Stan, you can trust us!" Bebe shot him a bright smile.

"We're experts at this!" Mercedes grinned, readjusting her top (a too-small t-shirt bearing the words 'I'm not gay, but my girlfriend is!').

If Stan were more prudent, he would have taken this turn of events as a sign that the powers that be did not want Stan to intervene in that night's affairs.

But if Stan were more prudent, he wouldn't have been in this situation to begin with.

-----

Kyle calmly sipped his cappuccino, leaning one elbow against the table at which he was sitting.

He was idly flipping through a copy of _Vanity Fair _that someone had left in Tweak Bros. Coffee Shop – after, of course, wondering who the hell in South Park actually read _Vanity Fair _– when someone began speaking to him.

"Hey." Kyle looked up and nearly performed a comedic spit-take.

"Token?" he asked, setting the steaming liquid down in order to avoid further injury as the other boy sat down next to him. "_You're_ the guy Stan decided to set me up with?" The tiny part of Kyle's mind that usually yelled at him for ending a sentence with a preposition had the good sense to keep quiet.

Token raised an eyebrow. "I thought he was asking on your behalf."

"No, Stan didn't even tell me. He just told me to be here at seven."

Token pinched the bridge of his nose in a manner that suggested the onset of a sudden migraine. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He looked back up at Kyle, somewhat confused. "Wait, you let Stan Fucking Marsh set you up on a blind date?"

Kyle nodded, fully realizing what that said about his own level of stupidity. "Yeah, well, he always manages to talk me into this kind of thing." He chuckled. "At least it's better than that time he got me to dig up my dead grandmother to play a prank on some older kids back in third grade."

"…You're joking."

"I wish."

The conversation continued amicably along the same lines for a few more minutes. Kyle was marveling at Token's ability to diffuse tension and awkwardness, and internally conceded that maybe Stan _hadn't_ screwed this one up too badly, when he noticed that the other boy had suddenly stopped speaking.

"Uh, Earth to Token. What's up?"

Token leaned forward and spoke in a low whisper. "I think we're being watched."

"What? By whom?"

Token jutted one thumb out to his side, and Kyle slowly looked in the same direction. Indeed, poorly hidden behind the plant in the corner of the room, were Stan, along with Bebe and Mercedes of all people.

"…the fuck?"

"Come on, let's get out of here and hope they don't follow us."

And with that, they both dashed their way out of the shop.

-----

"Where are they going?" Stan asked, peaking around the overgrown shrubbery at the café's rear corner.

"We'd better follow them," Bebe suggested, crouching as she leapt out form behind the plant in a futile attempt to remain inconspicuous.

The girls walked quickly toward Stan's car, and he hopped in the driver's seat. Then, the unfamiliar voice of reason began wheedling at the back of his mind.

"Hey, guys? Maybe we should leave them alone."

"And let two _boys_ try to stumble their way through a romantic interlude?" Bebe asked, giving him a stare that clearly communicated just how retarded she thought the suggestion was.

Mercedes whipped out her cell phone. "Besides," she said slyly, "I have just the thing to set the mood." She pointed forward while dialing a number with her other hand. "Now follow that car!" she called dramatically, gesturing to Token's car as it made its way out of the parking lot.

-----

They didn't have to follow the boys far. Kyle and Token had ended up at Harbucks, and were on their second round of caffeinated drinks when Mercedes' mood-setting secret weapon arrived.

Stan blinked repeatedly as he stared through his car's windshield into the café, wondering if his mind had finally snapped and he was merely hallucinating. "Is…is that a mariachi band?"

"Fuck!" screeched Mercedes. "That's _supposed_ to be a violin player!"

This was not reassuring. "You were going to hire a violin player to follow them around?"

"You'd be amazed what a little classical music does for one's libido," Bebe interjected, grinning.

"I'm sure I would," Stan mumbled.

The five sombrero-donning men made their way after the boys as they fled their second coffee shop in the space of a half-hour.

-----

"You think we lost them?"

"Yeah, looks like." After being chased through the local mall, the park by Stark's Pond, and three different bookstores, Token and Kyle had taken refuge by the high school's empty football field.

Token plopped down on the bench, clearly exhausted. Kyle joined him, giving him an apologetic look.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about all this."

"I didn't even know there were any mariachi bands _in_ South Park," Token mumbled. He turned to face Kyle. "So, uh, what now?"

Kyle was tempted to make a crack about forgetting ambiance and just making out right there – and he was willing to put money on Token being a pretty good kisser – but thought better of it. Kyle's more conservative response, however, was drowned out by the commencement of a stirring _bolero_.

"Goddamnit!" Token shouted, jumping to his feet. "How do they keep finding us!?"

Kyle restrained himself from physically attacking one or more band member. "At least things can't get any more bizarre."

Life in South Park should have taught him by then not to tempt fate.

Kyle looked around quickly to ascertain the source of the sudden onslaught of water droplets. "…It appears that the sprinkler system has gone off."

"Well, at least it scared away the vihuela player and the guitarist."

"The trumpet players seem to be sticking around though."

"Yeah. Er, you know Kyle, I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check for tonight." He looked up at the streams of water that were still falling on them. "Uh…no pun intended."

"Right. Yeah, sure. Later."

Kyle was torn between blaming the fates and blaming Stan. Then again, there was probably shared responsibility there.

-----

Stan, Bebe, and Mercedes watched the chaos unfold from the dry sanctity of Stan's car. The members of the band Mercedes and Bebe had hired were scrambling to protect their instruments from the sprinklers, but Kyle and Token merely appeared to be talking. A few moments later, Token was walking away, while Kyle looked up and shook his fist at the sky, presumably cursing God for the unfortunate turn the evening had taken.

"Where the hell is Token going?" When Stan didn't receive a response, he turned around.

"Guys, what do you—oh Christ." Stan turned back to face the windshield. The Date Squad was engaging in what _should_ have been any teenage boy's wet dream, but under the circumstances didn't live up to its erotic potential.

It was then, as two of his ex-girlfriends made out in his backseat while his best friend stormed off in an enraged (not to mention soaked) huff, that Stan decided Kyle probably had the right idea – God hated them.

-----

When Kyle didn't answer any of Stan's calls all weekend, Stan at least had the good sense not to press the issue by trying to visit him at home. After the disaster that had turned out to be Friday night, after all, Kyle probably needed some time to cool off.

By Monday, however, Stan figured this had gone on long enough. He put up being avoided through the first half of the day and during lunch, but by sixth period resolved to make Kyle at least listen long enough to hear an apology.

Stan would have gone to where the track team met right away, but had to stay behind to discuss a particularly low quiz grade with his math teacher before being allowed to leave. When she questioned him on what he could possibly have been doing the weekend before to distract him so completely from his studies, Stan opted not to answer out of sheer embarrassment. His teacher, of course, interpreted this as merely being difficult, which made the meeting that much longer and more painful.

After she finally let him go, Stan made his way through hallway where his locker was located. Most of Stan's schoolmates had left for the day, and only a few students who were staying after school for various club meetings or activities were milling about.

Stan was therefore surprised to see Token of all people still at school. Judging from the portfolio he was carrying, he was more than likely working on a photo project. Stan didn't question his luck – he just ran up toward Token, hoping to get in a few words with him before going to find Kyle.

"Token!" he called out, running up to the other boy when he didn't respond. "Hey, Token, wait up!"

Token stopped, finally turning to acknowledge him. "What do you want, Stan?"

Stan took a moment to catch his breath. "Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other night. Everything going wrong…the sprinklers, the mariachi band, all of it, it was my fault."

Token shrugged. "You know what? Don't sweat it. Really, you did me a favor."

"Huh?"

"After a night so phenomenally humiliating, I don't think I'll ever be embarrassed by anything again."

He would have called Token a smartass, had he not still been ridden with guilt about the whole affair.

"Er…yeah. Anyway, I'm gonna go find Kyle and try to sort things out with him. I guess I just wanted to clear the air."

Token shook his head. "Don't worry about it too much." He paused. "Though, if you're going to be hunting down Kyle anyway, can you give him this for me?" Token pulled a small white envelope from his backpack, handing it to Stan.

"Uh, sure," Stan said, taking it. "What is it?"

"That's not really any of your business."

"Fair enough," Stan replied, tucking it away in his own jacket. "I'll catch you later."

"Later," Token said, picking up the portfolio he had set down and making his way down the hallway.

Stan began heading in the opposite direction, hoping to catch Kyle before practice, when a shrill voice called out his name.

"Stan!"

"Oh, crap," Stan mumbled under his breath, stopping in the middle of the hall. This was not what he wanted to deal with right then.

Heidi stalked up to him. "Where are you going?"

"Not now, Heidi," Stan said curtly, making to step away from her.

"Don't walk away from me, Stan!" She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back and forcing him to face her.

Stan wrenched his way out of her grip. "I'll be back soon, I just need to take care of something. Besides, don't you have practice?"

"Don't _you_?"

"I just need to find Kyle first. I'll head to basketball practice after that."

"So you'll risk the wrath of Coach Raymond to find Kyle, but you can't find five minutes to spare for me?" Heidi crossed her arms, glaring.

Stan sighed. Why was his girlfriend making such a bug deal out of nothing? "Heidi, _please_. This isn't about us, and I don't have time to argue with you."

"Of course you don't!" she shouted, ignoring the stares of the confused chess team members who were unfortunate enough to walk by at that particular moment. "You never have time. You'll drop everything for Kyle or Wendy in a heartbeat, but I have to be penciled into your schedule."

"Wendy?" Stan began to get a sinking feeling regarding what this argument was really about. "What the hell does she have to do with any of this?"

"Stan, I'm used to you canceling plans with me because something comes up that you _have _to see Wendy about, but this has gotten out of hand. You've practically been living with her for the past couple of weeks."

"It was just for this whole situation with Kyle. I needed a woman's advice."

"And you couldn't ask me?" Heidi asked accusatorily.

"Er…Wendy's different." The second Stan uttered that, however, he knew he'd said exactly the wrong thing.

"Of course she's different." Heidi sighed. "You know, if you're going to consistently blow me off for another girl, the least you can do is actually admit your feelings for her."

"What!?" Stan cried out defensively. "I am not—"

"Obsessed over her? You don't respect her opinion more than anyone else's? You're not _always_ seeking her approval?"

"I—"

"Are you telling me you _wouldn't_ rather be with her right now than me?"

He wracked his brain, trying to think up an appropriate response, but came up empty. "Heidi…" Stan trailed off.

"Stan, between Kyle and Wendy, there just isn't enough room in your life for anyone else. Including me." Stan didn't reply, so she continued. "So go find Kyle. But then, please go talk to Wendy. I don't need this sort of frustration, and _you_ don't need to spend all your time pining after someone who's well within your grasp."

Stan stood silently as Heidi turned her back and walked down the hallway, presumably to join the rest of the cheer squad.

That's when Stan realized, despite the enjoyment he derived from Heidi's company, how little being dumped by her – in public, no less – actually hurt.

"…Aw, shit."

-----

"Come on, Kyle, you can't keep me locked out here forever!" Stan shouted. When he hadn't found Kyle at track practice, he drove himself to Kyle's house, figuring that he probably went straight home after his last class. He'd been right, of course, but what he hadn't counted on was just how pissed Kyle would be. So, while Mrs. Broflovski had let him into the house, Kyle had quickly locked Stan out of his room when he realized who it was that had come calling.

"Watch me!" Kyle shouted back from inside.

Stan kept knocking. "I'm not leaving you alone until you let me talk to you!" He started jiggling with the door handle and pushing himself against the door, knowing it probably wouldn't work even as he attempted to force his way in.

"Oof!" Stan fell forward and landed at Kyle's feet – apparently, he'd gotten sick of the noise and opened the door in an attempt to get rid of him more quickly. Kyle stalked back toward his bed, picking up his copy of _Siddhartha_ and resuming his reading.

"Haven't you read that, like, ten times?" Stan asked, standing up and dusting himself off.

"I read it whenever I need to find inner serenity and remind myself not to go and kill anyone who pisses me off," Kyle replied coldly, not bothering to look up.

Stan winced. Well, that answered the question of just _how_ angry Kyle was. "I, er, stopped by the track. Your coach said you hadn't shown, so I wanted to come by and see if everything was okay before getting back to practice."

"Everything's fine. Or, at least, it _was_ until someone decided that he couldn't just leave well enough alone."

Stan's initial impulse was to argue back, but he knew it was no use. He also knew Kyle was right. "Kyle…look, I'm sorry."

"Uh huh."

"I was wrong. I'm admitting it." Damnit, couldn't Kyle see just how bad he felt about the whole debacle?

"Good for you," the redhead responded dismissively. "Now get back to practice before Coach Raymond makes you run laps for being late again."

"Kyle, please, just let me fin—"

"I got it. You're sorry, I'm still pissed, and I'll talk to you when I'm less infuriated. Now, will you _please_ get out of here and go play football like a good little heterosexual?" he said, massaging his temples with one hand.

"Uh, it's basketball season."

"I don't care if it's fucking rabbit season!" Kyle shouted, throwing down his book. "You just had to keep pushing and pushing, no matter how many times I told you to piss off, and now I look like a complete ass, thanks to you. So just leave me alone to wallow in my utter humiliation, okay?"

Stan looked down at his feet and shuffled them awkwardly. He stood there for a minute before turning around and heading toward the door. Well, that was that; Stan just hoped Kyle would calm down enough to actually speak to him in a few days time. He shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets, stopping suddenly as his hand came upon a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

"Oh, shit, I almost forgot," he said, heading back toward Kyle and handing him the envelope Token had given him. "This is probably the last thing you want right now, but, er, Token asked me to give it to you."

Kyle looked up, making eye contact with Stan for the first time since he had walked in. "What is it?" he said, reaching for it.

"I don't know, he didn't tell me. Just asked me to give it to you."

Kyle opened it. His eyes widened as he sat up tossed the now-empty envelope into his trashcan, continuing to stare at the slip of paper in his hand.

"Ky? What is it?"

Kyle grinned and turned the sheet around, showing Stan. "It's a rain check. An actual rain check."

Stan chuckled. "You gonna cash it in?"

"I think I need to talk to him first. But I might, yeah."

Stan looked at Kyle hopefully. "So…does that also mean you forgive me for meddling?"

"Damnit, you know I can't stay mad at you." Kyle set down the piece of paper before looking back at his best friend. "Seriously, though, don't you need to get to practice?"

"Yeah, I should," Stan conceded. "Just have one more thing to take care of before that."

Kyle watched Stan exit his room before retrieving the note Token had written him.

Well, since he'd taken the afternoon off _anyway_…

-----

Monday was the only day of the week Wendy didn't stay after school for student council meetings, the school newspaper, or the debate team. That being the case, it was rather fortunate that Kyle and Wendy lived so close to one another; five minutes after leaving his best friend's domicile, he'd managed to make his way to Wendy's front door. He knocked on it, trying to gather his thoughts and figure out what, exactly, he was going to say. 'I love you' would probably have been rather out of left field; 'do you want to start going out, yet again' would be likely to get him smacked upside the head.

Wendy opened the door, preempting his ill-conceived attempt at a grand speech. "Stan!" she said, apparently surprised at seeing him. "Uh…how did things go on Friday?"

All thoughts of romantically declaring his adoration at her doorstep lay forgotten. How did she always manage to bring up exactly the thing he least wanted to talk about?

"Oh, just fucking perfect. Your _reinforcements_ did a fantastic job of making sure the night went well, right through the brightly clad mariachi band!"

He knew it wasn't fair to yell at Wendy about that, especially since Kyle had already forgiven him. But that didn't mean he wasn't still pissed off about being abandoned at the last minute.

"Don't blame me for your bad ideas!" Wendy shouted back. "I _told_ you it wouldn't work and would probably just get Kyle pissed off at you!"

"And you still agreed to help me out!" Stan responded, only vaguely aware that the escalating volume of their conversation was beginning to attract curious onlookers. It was just one of those days.

"Because you would have been even more clueless and lost without me!"

"Augh!" Stan shouted in exasperation, slamming his forehead against the house's doorframe. "You are so fucking _infuriating!_"

Wendy stood there, seething but not saying anything. Stan took that as license to continue.

"You're arrogant. You're judgmental. You're manipulative and passive-aggressive and a little bit nuts and _Christ_ are you scary."

Wendy glared at him coldly. "Are you done yet?"

"No, I'm not. You drive me insane, and I still can't stop thinking about you. It's like…" Stan took a moment to gather his thoughts, pulling back from the doorframe and actually making eye contact. "I'm pretty sure the only flaws you lack are the ones I have. I'm oversensitive and frankly pretty slow on the uptake, especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships. It's like the only thing we really have in common is that we both get irrationally jealous."

Wendy frowned, confused by this new track the conversation had taken. "What, exactly, are you getting at?"

"You make me crazy. Because despite whatever crap may be between us, I _love_ spending time around you." He sucked in a breath, steeling himself for the forthcoming declaration. "I was wrong. I don't think we can stay friends. Even at your worst moments – and they are _really_ fucking bad – I can't get over the fact that I just want to _be_ with you."

Wendy stepped away slightly, clearly somewhat taken aback. "Stan…" she began cautiously. "That sounded really, _really_ gay."

Reality check. "Yeah, I know. Must be spending too much time around Kyle."

"No, Kyle would never say anything that romantic."

"Shut up," he grumbled, rather embarrassed at his outburst.

Then again, she had said _romantic_, rather than stupid.

"So. Does that mean you're not going to laugh in my face?"

Wendy grinned and grabbed Stan by the collar of his jacket. "Some reactions other than laughter are coming to mind."

-----

Kyle stepped off the bus at the stop nearest Token's house, looking at his watch. He'd forgotten just how _far_ Token actually lived – it had taken almost forty-five minutes to get there.

He hesitantly took two steps toward the mansion before coming to a standstill. Maybe this _wasn't_ such a good idea – maybe he should just leave things as they were, and not give Stan the smug satisfaction of knowing that he had succeeded in forcibly shoving Kyle into the dating scene.

He had just about decided to turn around and go home when the door unexpectedly opened. There Token stood, clearly surprised.

"Kyle?" Token frowned in curiosity. "I thought it was you."

"You saw me?"

Token jutted a thumb backwards. "Windows. The latest in home surveillance technology."

"Er, right," Kyle said. He swallowed loudly before continuing. "Anyway, I came here because I think I owe you an apology."

"What for? Having an unbelievably stupid best friend?"

Kyle laughed nervously. "Yeah, partially. But, hell, I _let_ him set me up, against my better judgment. So last night was really just as much my fault as his."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'll just chalk it up as one of those bizarre once-in-a-lifetime experiences I hear so much about." He paused. "I hope, anyway."

"Point." Kyle inhaled deeply, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts before pulling out the hand-drawn 'rain check.' "And, uh, this?"

"Yeah. I guess that's my cheesy way of asking if you would be interested in going out for coffee or something some time. No sprinklers."

"Ah, sure." He grinned. "So, are you asking me out on a date? Like, legitimately?"

"Yes. As long as Stan is far, _far_ away. And, for that matter, there aren't any blonde dykes for miles around." Token smiled back. "You know, I'm kinda glad this whole ordeal happened. I might not have gotten the guts to ask you out otherwise."

"Hm? Why not?"

"Well, you're pretty intimidating."

Kyle frowned. Sure, he was temperamental and a bit off-kilter, but what did that have to do with his dateability? "Come on, I'm not really that scary."

"I meant romantically, you dip."

"What?" Kyle was rather surprised at this assessment. "But you're, like, a total catch."

"Yeah, well, one can never tell with you."

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm kind of a slut. If you were interested, you could have just said something."

"Yeah, hooking up with you, no big deal. But actually asking you out – you're kind of notorious in the heartbreaking department."

"What? Really?"

"…And I guess the rumors about your obliviousness are accurate too."

"Oh, I'm not _that_ bad!" Kyle protested.

"You really are," Token countered. "I was trying to pull you away to somewhere private – by which I mean, anywhere out of Stan's range of vision – all evening."

"What?" Kyle rolled his eyes. "I thought you were just trying to evade the Mexican Hat Dance."

"Okay, yeah, maybe that was part of it."

Kyle cast a sidelong glance back at Token. "So, does this mean you're _not_ going to give up on men and go back into the closet?"

"What do _you_ think?" The next thing Kyle knew, a hand had quickly pulled him closer by the small of his back, and his earlier suspicions were confirmed – Token was a _really_ good kisser. Token pulled away, however, as laughter started bubbling up from Kyle's throat.

"What?"

Kyle kept chortling. "I think it doesn't really count as a goodnight kiss if it's in the middle of the afternoon two days later."

Token facepalmed, grumbling. "And people say _I'm_ a smartass."

-----

When Stan was late for basketball practice, yet again, he didn't have to explain. Coach Raymond just tossed him his jersey and told him to get onto the goddamn court, or he was getting himself a new starting center.

He didn't notice Heidi shoot him a sly grin from the bleachers before picking up her pompoms and returning to cheerleader practice.

After all, she figured, there really wasn't any shame in admitting defeat to Wendy Testaburger.

-----

**Author's Notes: **Well, that's it! Hope you enjoyed the story. Again, since I did originally plan (and largely write) this as a one-shot, I'm a bit concerned that the chapter breaks seemed a bit awkward.

Anyway, as usual, please review to send me any questions, comments, or concerns!


End file.
